Introspection
by HopeCoppice
Summary: Bertrand reflects on recent events and the position he finds himself in. Follow up to 'Therapy' but can stand alone. Spoilers for all of series 3.


**Follow-up to 'Therapy' but can stand alone.**

Bertrand lay in his shroud and stared up at the ceiling of the training room. More specifically, he was staring at the edge of the huge old bookstand that he had dragged in front of the alcove where he was currently contemplating sleep. The book had turned out to be an insane and ancient vampire bent on assuming power. He had claimed to be the Chosen One. Bertrand had helped to destroy him.

When Vlad had returned from his self-imposed exile, to say that Bertrand had been relieved was an understatement; after the long nights of searching and the long days of worrying, he had hardly dared to believe he'd come back. He'd dogged his young charge's footsteps until he got thirsty, and that was when the Count had come to him with his flattery and manipulations. He'd told him that Slayers were dangerous, as Bertrand well knew, and that the best way to serve Vlad would be to spur him into action. A monogrammed stake and a pile of dust that was once the Chosen One's sister ought to do it, the Count thought.

Bertrand was not so fond of Ingrid that he had not been prepared to sacrifice her for Vlad's gain, but the Count had set him up; Vlad had caught him and made it very clear that he would know true suffering if he dared to threaten his family again. At least, for the few seconds it would take him to crumble to dust. Still, he'd made himself useful for translation duties when writing appeared in the Praedictum Impaver, and he'd been proven right to distrust Erin when she turned out to be a Slayer in disguise. Then he'd shown Vlad the newspaper, trying to explain to him how seriously an offensive against the Slayers was needed, and had been shrugged off.

He'd seen red. If Vlad was more interested in chasing his pet Slayer, then so be it, but Bertrand was going to fill in the book, and he was going to save the vampires using the power it would give him. Better still, he'd use Erin's blood to complete his task, and then he could be rid of her, too. All breathers would ever do was betray them. But then the book had turned into Sethius, and then somehow they'd all worked together to get rid of the self-proclaimed Chosen One.

Vlad had turned away then, to talk to his family, and Bertrand had slipped out while they bickered over their truce – the irony of that seemed to have escaped them - a truce which was being extended to the Slayer's Guild, as well. He'd made his way down to the training room, folded the cloth the book had rested on, and pushed the heavy oak stand into this alcove to add an extra obstacle for anyone who might come looking for him. He had no idea what vengeance Vlad – or any other member of the Dracula family - might wish to exact, but he knew that the younger Dracula would be at school for most of the daylight hours, along with Ingrid and the Slayer. If he was going to get any sleep, this was probably his best chance, but his mind was whirling.

For four hundred years, his only purpose had been to protect the book until the Chosen One could open it. Now the book was gone, and he had betrayed both Vlad and Sethius. Now, for the first time, he couldn't see what his next step should be. The book had been the Chosen one all along, and Vlad had turned him to ash... He patted his pocket to check that the fragment of bone he'd picked up was still there, the last token of the book he'd carried for so long. He had thought it might give him some sense of comfort, but it seemed that wasn't going to be the case.

The book he'd protected with every fibre of his being for the last four centuries had turned out to be a crazed old vampire with a power complex, who'd claimed to be the very Chosen One Bertrand was supposed to serve. Now he was dust, and there was nothing left to guard. As for his other duties, well, Vlad didn't seem to need a tutor any more. Even if he did, he doubted he would want Bertrand to continue in that role.

After all those years, being without purpose terrified Bertrand more than anything – more than Sethius had, even. The old vampire had seemed to despise him from the moment he laid eyes on him, and Bertrand was prepared to admit to himself that that had hurt a little. At least Vlad had given him the chance to mess up before deciding he wasn't worth the trouble he caused. He had been so sure that Vlad was the real thing, the real Chosen One... and he supposed he had been right; Vlad had opened the book, after all, and revealed the writing.

Suddenly the fog in Bertrand's mind began to clear as all the facts settled themselves in their proper order. Vlad certainly seemed set on leading vampires to a new destiny, glorious or not... He was the Chosen One, in actions at least. Bertrand's duty was clear, then. Protect the Chosen One. Protect Vlad.

He should have known that all along, he realised. When night fell, he would have to make his apologies and find out if there was still a place for him at Garside. It would be better to be well-rested for that. He would need to recall as much as he could about vampiric policy-making, too, so that he could make himself useful. As he slipped into sleep, he was mentally drafting Vlad's perfect speech to the Council. Running over every treaty he had ever heard of, considering everything he'd learnt about the vampire clans in the last four centuries, preparing himself for the trials of tomorrow, Bertrand du Fortunesa closed his eyes.


End file.
